


Harry Potter and the Death in the Family

by storyplease



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyplease/pseuds/storyplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione visits Grimmauld Place after being shooed out of the house by Ron so she can have some time to herself and comes across a letter that will bring both herself and Harry face to face with the trauma of having lived in the cupboard under the stairs on Privet Drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harry Potter and the Death in the Family

The letter sat unopened on the kitchen table at 12 Grimmauld Place.  Hermione hadn’t meant to be nosy, but it was too late.  

 

She’d seen the return address.

 

The house was still Unplottable, (largely out of necessity due to Harry’s continued fame, even though it had been nearly eight years after the Second Wizarding War had come to an end), but Hermione was one of a handful of Harry’s close friends who could find it.  She Apparated onto the front porch while Disillusioned out of habit more than anything else, but since Ron was at home caring for the children and had shooed her out to take some time for herself, she’d decided to pop by for a visit.

 

Harry was out running errands, though, and Ginny was upstairs dealing with the morning sickness that had plagued her relentlessly even though she was already halfway through her third pregnancy.  James, her eldest son, was parked in front of the cacophonous sound of morning cartoons on the telly, though Hermione still couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten it to work with so much magic about, while Albus was somehow sleeping through all of the noise.

 

“Never again,” Ginny rasped, as Hermione held her hair back while she’d gagged and hurled, “No more babies for me.  I just hope it’s a girl so I don’t have to see Harry get all misty-eyed about not getting to name a child after his mum.”

 

Hermione gave silent thanks that she’d been firm about only having two. After all, it was her personal opinion that one should never have more children than hands.  

 

Luckily, the years had taught Hermione to hold her tongue when she knew that others would not appreciate having information thrust upon them, so she simply made soothing noises and commiserated with her red-haired sister-in-law.

 

Ginny, though, was really in no state to do anything at all, so Hermione had shooed her upstairs into the master bedroom after practically pouring an Anti-Nausea Draught down the poor woman’s throat.

 

“Go rest, Ginny,” Hermione said, smiling as she joked with her friend, “Don’t make me _Stupefy_ you!”

 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Ginny grumbled as she wrapped herself up in the duvet until only her head was visible and she looked a bit like a giant fuzzy worm, adding, “Thanks Hermione.  I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

“Right, then,” Hermione said, tromping down the stairs.

 

Thanks to Harry’s explicit instructions, Kreacher was no longer overtly horrible to her face anymore, but he only ever listened to Harry, Ginny or the children.  Which meant that it was up to Hermione to get James and little Albus something to eat for breakfast.  Besides, she didn’t really want to trouble the poor house elf.  While it had been a point of contention between her and Harry, the truth was that no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel for Harry to keep a house elf, Kreacher was far too old to make it on his own even if he were freed against his will.  It was far more compassionate to allow him to live in the only home he’d ever known and loved, and Hermione knew that Harry did his best not to order Kreacher around more than absolutely necessary.

 

Still, it rankled her that it was considered acceptable for house elves to be enslaved at all.

 

“It’s just breakfast. How hard can it be?” Hermione said to herself as she opened the door to the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a disaster.  

 

Hermione knew how to make breakfast, of course, but Ron was the real cook in their household.  He actually enjoyed doing it- it had been a skill he’d taken up after the war when his mum would spend all day in bed crying over Fred.  Cooking together with his mother had become a way to soothe and connect her to her living son, and in return Molly had taught him every trick she knew.

 

“Cooking a meal is a lot like chess, ‘Mione,” Ron had told her many a time, “You have to get all of the ingredients laid out, figure out how to work them together, and then time everything just right so the entire meal comes out hot and ready to eat.  If you make your eggs before you put your muffins in the oven, you’re going to have rubbery eggs and your muffins will be all battery and horrible.”

 

The memory made her smile, despite herself.

 

Hermione, who didn’t like cooking, and only did it when she had to out of necessity, simply nodded and smiled.  Anything to keep Ron doing the lion’s share of the food preparation.  In return, she’d do the dishes after and clean up the mess.  She actually enjoyed washing up, though Ron would probably tell her she was mad if she ever admitted to it.  It let her focus on the mundane repetition of the chore so her mind could wander deliciously off on random tangents to her heart’s content.

 

Grimmauld Place had never seemed to follow any logical sense of order, and this sense of insanity extended to the kitchen in spades. It didn’t help that she couldn’t seem to figure out where everything was stored.  The only thing that was easily found were eggs, sausage, and bread so she found herself frying up scrambled eggs and simmering some sausage in the hopes that James didn’t hate them.

 

“Why can’t I have Hatty Puffs?” James whined, as he sat down at the kitchen table with his face screwed into a pout that looked eerily like his father’s, knocking some mail and a couple of letters to the floor.

 

“Do you know where they are, then?” Hermione asked irritably as she picked them up, wanting to scream in frustration when the little boy simply shrugged.

 

“I dunno, Kreacher always gets it for me when I’m watching telly,” he replied, and Hermione gritted her teeth and wondered if he always spoke in a dull whine or if he was doing it especially to get a rise out of her.

 

Eventually, Hermione threw down the plates of toast (which had gone a bit cold), sausage (which was a little singed on one side) and eggs (rubbery) with a bang and told James that he could eat it or not eat it and either way she didn’t care, even though she did just a little.  As an afterthought, she set out some butter and marmalade, because even if she was in a bad mood, serving dry toast was going a bit far.

 

James took one look at the spread before him and said, in the most ungrateful tone of voice Hermione had ever heard, “Where’s the juice? You forgot to get some!”

 

Hermione’s face turned red and she turned and clutched at the sink, bending over and swearing loudly inside of her head as she stomped her foot repeatedly on the cobblestone floor.

 

Taking a deep breath, she finally calmed down enough to say, “I believe your father is picking up juice as we speak.  I can get you a glass of tap water if you need something now.”

 

She turned around and found James noisily eating the food she’d put on the plate as though it was the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten and she sighed with relief.

 

But just at that moment, she heard Albus start to cry.

  
_Of course.  It figures on my one day off, I’d figure out some way to find myself managing two children at once anyway._

 

Ron was right, she was a glutton for punishment.

 

It was then that the front door opened and she heard Harry’s voice call out, “It’s ok, Gin! I’ll get Albus!”

 

A stack of groceries popped into existence on the countertops with a WHUMP that made Hermione jump, though James seemed wholly unsurprised as he continued to scarf down pieces of messily spread marmalade toast. It was then that she looked down and realized that an envelope had somehow stuck to the bottom of one of her shoes.  She reached down and pulled it free, wincing when she realized that the white linen of the envelope had been stained by a drop of marmalade, darkened and smudged from having been attached to the bottom of her shoe for however long it had taken her to notice it.

 

And then she saw the return address, and her heart dropped to her shoes.

 

She knew about Privet Drive, had heard horror stories from Harry about his years being trapped under the stairs, neglected and abused by his aunt, uncle and cousin.  Out of all of them, it seemed that only Dudley had ever reached out after the war to repair their relationship.  Going to university and living on his own had been eye-opening for Dudley Dursley.  He could still be loud and a bit self-centered, but he had a good heart underneath it all, and in some ways, Dudley and Harry were the only ones able to truly commiserate about what had happened all those years ago before Harry’s owl had arrived and turned his whole world on its ear.

 

The envelope hadn’t been sealed very well and the corner was pulled up slightly.  Hermione began to feel very uncomfortable, but a part of her was so curious that she’d slid her finger underneath the seam of the envelope before she could catch herself.

 

“Absconding with my mail again, Hermione?” came a voice from the kitchen doorway, “Now this is a sense of deja vu that I didn’t think I’d ever experience again.”

 

Hermione went scarlet at having been caught.

 

“I wasn’t- it’s just...I’m...I’m sorry!” she stammered, looking up at Harry, who had little Albus (what was he, two? Hermione was terrible at guessing ages and remembering birthdays because Ron was so much better at that sort of thing) balanced on his hip and was looking at her with a mischievous sparkle in his green eyes.

 

“I kid, I kid!” Harry said, walking over towards her, “I just didn’t expect you to be here taking care of the children, that’s all. Where’s Ginny, anyway?”

 

“Upstairs,” Hermione managed, still trying to regain her composure, “She was really sick this morning, so...I tried to help.”

 

“Well, James is eating breakfast without making a horrible mess or screaming so loudly that I have to cast a Muffliato just to hear myself think, so I suppose that you’ve accomplished more than you think,” Harry replied goodnaturedly, patting Hermione on the shoulder and gesturing with his chin at the envelope, “What have you got there, anyway?”

 

“A letter...er…James must have knocked it off the table...and...it got stuck to my foot….you know...marmalade is pretty sticky and all,” Hermione said, still a bit flustered.

 

Harry looked at the return address and blanched.

 

“Open it,” he said, his voice gone dead serious, “I don’t have both hands free anyway. Please.”

 

With shaking hands, Hermione slid her finger under the gummy slit of the envelope and pulled the top half free, pulling out a sheet of folded stationery as though she were diffusing a bomb.

 

Unfolding the letter, she held it up to Harry so that he could read it as well.

 

_Dear Harry_ , it read, _I hope that this letter finds you well.  I’ve never been much for writing long-winded explanations for things, but I figure that you should know. Dad died last night and Mum is beside herself with grief.  I think she scarcely knows what to do with herself now.  I know you didn’t like him, and might even feel a tiny bit of relief about him not being able to shout at you anymore.  I don’t know why I used to think it was funny when I was a kid, but you already know how I feel about all of that.  Anyhow, we will be making funeral arrangements in the next couple of days, so I wanted to make sure that you knew.  Feel free to send me an owl to my old room if you’d like to reply.  Mum hates them, but they’re faster and more reliable than Muggle post. I’ll be here until I can get all of the funeral stuff sorted out.  I know that you have terrible memories of Privet Drive, but even though she won’t admit it, I think that Mum misses you too._

_Sincerely,_

_Your cousin, Dudley_

Harry braced himself against the counter with his free hand as he finished reading the letter.

 

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said, her hand over her mouth.

 

“I never liked my uncle.  He was a right bastard most of the time,” Harry said quietly, after a long, uncomfortable moment, “But even though I could probably never tell you why, I’m still sorry that he’s dead.  Aunt Petunia always seemed to look to him for everything.  Without him...Dudley’s right. I need to go back and see them.”

 

Hermione looked uncomfortable.  Both Ron and Ginny were still quite vocal about how much they disliked the Dursleys.

 

As though reading her mind, Harry gave Hermione a knowing look as he bounced Albus on his hip and said, “I know the current Weasley sentiment regarding my only remaining living relatives, but my mind’s made up.  I _need_ to do this.”

 

“And I know that you’ve patched things up with Dudley.  But...your aunt and uncle…they didn’t come to your wedding, Harry.  They didn’t even send you a card,” Hermione said flatly.  She didn’t have a very good opinion of Harry’s aunt and uncle either, even though she’d never actually met them.

 

And now, apparently, she’d never meet one of them.

 

“Hermione, I know this is really sudden, but I’m really glad you’re here.  Out of all of my friends, you’re the only one who knows what it’s like to grow up with muggles, and...I know it’s a lot to ask...but…”

 

He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

 

“You want me to come with you,” Hermione finished with a knowing look.

 

Harry nodded, wincing slightly as though expecting her to flat-out refuse.

 

“Of course, Harry,” she said, finally, tears in her eyes, “If you need me, I’m there.”

 

“ _Oh Hermione_! You’re the _best_ friend ever!” he said, hugging her with one arm as Albus squeaked irritably at being left out, “I’ll send an owl straight away.  Do you mind taking Albus for a bit?  He can eat most regular food now that he’s got his teeth, just be careful to cut them up in small pieces, ok?”

 

Hermione took the little boy and he burbled happily in her arms as she brought him to the table and bounced him on her knee.  Even though her clothes got a bit crumby, he ate like a champ, and soon after, James had gone back to his cartoons. Hermione sat there with Harry and a contented, sleepy Albus, listening as Harry shared memory after memory of his despised uncle and all of those years in the tall, cruelly spotless house on Privet Drive as though the floodgates had opened and poured the painful moments of his childhood back into the forefront of his mind with a vengeance.

 

Ron and Ginny had not been very happy about Harry going to Vernon Dursley’s funeral, but Hermione had explained that it was a way for Harry to get closure, that it would benefit him and that she’d be there to help him cope with it if anything came up.

 

She hoped that would be the case, at least.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning was gray and ugly just like the massive suit that Harry’s Uncle Vernon had been somehow squeezed into by the funeral home staff.  Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she and Harry could Apparate under the Invisibility Cloak and therefore would not have to sit through a long and strained car ride from the ceremony to the reception afterwards.  She stayed as close to him as a shadow, holding his hand in solidarity while they sat in the uncomfortable wooden pew-like rows at the funeral chapel.  Hermione sat on the far end, then Harry, then Dudley and then Aunt Petunia, who looked more bony and thin than ever in her long, black dress.  Hermione was reminded of a stick insect when she looked at the harsh, angular woman, and wondered how in the world someone could hold themselves in such a way that radiated no love whatsoever.

 

Dudley was tall like his mother but prone to a paunchiness that required a strict dietary regimen and physical fitness routine to keep under control.  Luckily, he’d gotten into amateur boxing in university, which suited him well.  He worked as a trainer in a gym and made good money helping people chisel their abs and shrink their waistlines. Turning his physical energy from bullying into helping others was something that Hermione knew Harry was truly proud of his cousin for doing, even if Harry was not the sort to even consider getting a membership to a muggle gym.

 

Harry’s cousin held his mother’s hand, his shoulders slumped forward as they all listened to Vernon’s childhood best friend Bill Hadley speak on the absolutely normal life that the man had led and how one could take comfort in the fact that he was a family man who did his job well and that the world was poorer for losing him.

 

There was no mention of Harry in the program under the “survived by” section, though Hermione knew that there wouldn’t be. Harry simply sat and stared at the open casket, his eyes wide but dry as he seemed to memorize the lined face and walrus-like moustache that sat impeccably combed under the dead man’s nose.

 

“You know,” Harry said later, as they’d walked from the funeral chapel, “He really doesn’t look like the Uncle Vernon in my head.  I’m so used to him huffing about all red-faced and shouting and angry, that it simply does not seem to match up with the Vernon Dursley lying so still and quiet in the casket.  It’s strange, Hermione.  I don’t feel anything when I look at him.  Not even relief.  And that makes me feel….I don’t know.”

 

Hermione stood there with her friend and squeezed his shoulder.

 

“There’s no one way you have to feel, you know,” she said softly, “I cried like a baby at Dumbledore’s funeral, but I couldn’t bring myself to cry when Fred was buried.  I know that sounds heartless, but for some reason, I just...it took me awhile to process that there could ever be a world in which one of the twins no longer existed.  But five months later when I went into the joke shop to drop some stuff off for Ron and George just smiled at me in that way, you know, the same way they always smiled when they were in the middle of a Quidditch match and had knocked one of the Slytherin players for a loop….and I just broke down.”

 

“That’s the thing, though,” Harry said, “It’s less that I’m numb about it, and more that this just feels like something that’s happening to someone else, but I’ve just found myself walking around in their life for a day.  So I’m left in this state of curious detachment.  The Dursleys were a part of my life for years, but somehow they really weren’t ever part of my life if you know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, thinking of how surreal it felt to visit her parents and their completely Muggle neighborhood, “I know what you mean.”

 

They sat behind a copse of trees in silence for a time before Apparating to Dudley’s bedroom (as they’d arranged with Dudley beforehand) and making their way down the stairs where everyone was gathering for the wake.

 

Harry showed Hermione the cupboard under the stairs where he had lived all those years ago.  It was so tiny that neither of them could properly fit inside. The house was small, but somehow Harry’s Aunt Petunia always seemed to be across the room from her nephew.  That was just as well.  Harry didn’t seem to be in a mood to talk to his aunt, either.

 

Dudley introduced Hermione and Harry to his wife, Melanie.  She was a handsome woman, tall and strong in the sort of way that left one wondering if she might have been raised on a farm and was well-practiced in the art of juggling sheep.  She’d been unable to come to the funeral on account of their daughter, Nellie, who had been down for a nap and would have likely caused a scene during the long, boring proceedings.

 

Dudley took them aside later and confided in Harry and Hermione that he was fairly certain that his daughter was...special, like them.  In a couple of instances, Nellie had caused a table to jump and dance for a few seconds during a tantrum and had been found in her nursery on more than one occasion making her mobile lurch and spin as she laughed and clapped in delight.

 

“I know it’s a lot to ask, considering our history,” he said, wringing his ham-sized hands together, “But if you don’t mind...Mel and I are at a loss at how to handle this.  Her grandmother doesn’t know, and I’m afraid of what will happen if she finds out.”

 

Harry got a faraway look in his eyes, as though he’d fallen into deeply repressed memories of his own treatment as a toddler and when they refocused, his expression was strangely intense.

 

“Come to London next weekend,” he said, glancing across the room at Aunt Petunia, who suddenly turned and began fussing with a flower arrangement, “I’ll meet you at the station and we can all talk more about it.”

 

In the end, Harry and Hermione only stayed a short while before quietly slipping away.

 

Or so they thought.

 

“Harry,” a strangled sounding voice called to them as they closed the front door behind them.

 

Aunt Petunia sat in a porch swing that had somehow been shoved into the side of the tiny front porch, her foot tapping nervously as though she were about to jump up and run away as fast as her legs could carry her.  The rest of her body was almost deathly still, though, and she stared at Harry with a practiced precision that made Hermione feel deeply uncomfortable for him.

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” Aunt Petunia said, as though forcing herself to say the words, “For coming to the funeral.  I’m...I’m sorry that we never…”

 

She blew her nose on a lace handkerchief, tears leaking from her eyes.

 

“I just wanted a _normal_ life!” she exclaimed brokenly, “I just wanted...I wanted to show her that I could be great at being normal! And all of those years you were a constant reminder that I’d never be what I truly wanted to be.  I’d never be special.  And now I’ve lost the last shred of normality and I just don’t know what’s next.  I’m scared, Harry.  And I’m sorry.  For all of it!  If I could have done it all over again, I would have done it differently.  I don’t expect you to forgive me.  I don’t expect you to understand.  But I’m sorry, so sorry, and I’ll always carry that guilt around with me.”

 

Harry looked at his aunt with something like pity in his eyes.

 

“I’ll be going now,” he said softly after a moment, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

 

Aunt Petunia’s eyes grew redder and wetter than before and she buried her head in her hands, weeping openly as they both turned and walked off a ways before Disillusioning themselves, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over themselves for good measure and Disapparating back to London.

“Thank you for coming with me, Hermione,” Harry said as he walked her up to her front door.

 

They could hear the children singing the Hogwarts school song with Ron bellowing the funny parts in various silly voices inside.  Hermione felt her heart throb painfully for a moment as she tried to think of living in a world without her husband.

 

Even for a second it was unbearable.

 

“Harry, if you need anything…” Hermione trailed off, looking him over with sympathetic eyes.

 

“I think we both need to be with our families.  To appreciate them, and be certain that we never treat them poorly or take them for granted,” Harry’s voice wavered, full of the weight of a thousand unspoken memories.

 

Hermione hugged him gently and pulled back, her eyes watering as she imagined exactly what Harry’s childhood had been like in that horrible stuffy house on Privet Drive.

 

“Go on,” she said, sniffing ungracefully, “Your family is probably bouncing off the walls waiting for you to return.”  
  


Harry laughed loudly out of nowhere, surprising both of them.

 

“I suppose they are,” he said, rubbing one of his eyes, “Though Ginny is probably doing more rolling about than bouncing at this point.”

 

“I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear you say that, Harry Potter,” Hermione replied with mock sternness, “If she wasn’t about to have your third child, Ginny would hex your bits off if she heard you say that.”

 

“Well, if it’s my bits that are at stake, then I’ll say no more,” Harry replied, and they both snickered like schoolchildren on Hermione’s front step.

 

And when Harry finally Disapparated at the edge of their driveway and Hermione turned around, opening the door to the certain chaos that was waiting for her inside, she silently thanked her lucky stars that she was finally home.

  



End file.
